Play The Game
by Darcie-Tate
Summary: We can can't choose who we fall in love with but we can choose how to play the game.Follows the lives of two teenage lovers, from how they are now to how they were then.Unveiling the grim love that drove them to the events that made them what they are now


My nails danced on the table drumming a familiar melody that soothed my panicked actions

**Now**

My nails danced on the table drumming a familiar melody that soothed my panicked actions.

How long could I sit here, my phone by my side just daring myself to pick it up and dial that number, the one that was drilled into my subconscious no matter how many times I had tried to get it out of there.

How many times could I trace those numbers with the jittery elegance of the 16 year old I was 6 years ago.

I sighed with the impatience of a frustrated 8 year old, fixated by the shinny ceramic of the cooker which caught my reflection, I looked 22 not a day older and not a day younger but inside me my youth danced and skipped a beat in time with my heart which fluttered with every pressured key.

It shouldn't be like this.

Reaching for the phone for the last time I made a million bargains with myself if he didn't answer on the first ring, I'd hang up and forget it, if he answered and I wanted to hang up I would, I was a grown up now, I was mature, I could pressure the end key with the fluidity of how I'd dialed the other numbers.

As I placed the phone to my ear I felt rather then heard the first pulsating ring that buzzed in my brain like an unwelcome bee skids around your face.

I breathed. My lungs filled, with pure air that seemed to fill me up for almost a second. Consume me and I was full but everyone has to exhale everyone has to let go.

A click.

"Hello?"

That voice.

That familiar serene paced voice sprang out from the depths of my Samsung and I knew at the moment I was dead.

My heart thudded in my ears and my breath shuck as I sucked in air with the desperation of a drowning man.

"Hello?"

I traced a figure of 8 on my arm convinced that he would know, he had to know, how could he not, I knew him from three miles away, my hairs stuck up on the back of my neck when I heard his voice from a street away, I felt him inside me again coursing threw my veins with every punch of my wretched heart that betrayed me by stamping Morse code out for everyone to hear.

"Jesus" he voice muttered in disbelief

"no, Darcie" my voice said with a confidence that conflicted my previous actions with such a magnitude that I even recoiled at the tone.

"Darcie?"

He voice sounded small, more delicate then I'd ever heard it, the voice you use to talk to a toddler in a tantrum, and well I had news for him I wasn't a child. A toddler. A teenager. I was an adult and I knew what I was doing. This time. This time.

I guessed it was my turn to talk. It was always my turn. My explanation. My resolution. That's how it worked. I talked he listened, took advise and continued. It was the way it worked. Like the recipe for a deadly poison apple because it didn't fix anything it just stayed a perfect circle till it was infringed by someone sinking their lips into the perfect circle with the symmetrical elegance of a skilled killer.

"Hello…….Zen" my voice said the last word with caution that was my name for him. It had been there since our first meeting.

I held my breath waiting for the reply.

"James"

It was brief, and short his voice held authority over me as it always did when he wanted me to acknowledge something, I scowled into the ceramic how could I have blushed so violently 6 years and still I blushed when the trace of embarrassment lingered in his voice, I shook it off reminded myself I had called for a reason.

My fingers drummed against the desk waiting for another word another breath.

Finally the steady silence was broken and I was brought back from my confusion with a dose of reality.

"What do you want Darcie"

A small smile crept into the corners of my lips and as my drumming became more dramatic I noticed how happy my anger at his tone was making me, this was good, very good he hadn't changed not in 6 years, I needed his help that was it, not because he was smart or better then anyone I had ever met, because he was pretty.

The exploitation of my body in his name had darkened the inner thoughts of my mind through every action I had performed and now it was time to pay it back.

He owed me this.

My incessant need to convince myself that I was right had left a pause that seemed to create more of a space between us then the 50 mile distance and the phone did and as I spoke I stuck to the rules, the facts, and the basics of my story.

Inhaling deeply feeling the warm air spread inside me filling me up again making me whole again but this time I wasn't sure what the cause was.

_The rules of the game. _

No emotion, no weakness. Facts, figures, and truth within reason.

Nothing is personal.

No walking down memory lane. (it leads it fuck all avenue)

No lingering private jokes.

No reconnection

No skimming through photo albums of inspiration to mess up the inadequate's mind.

No looking in the eyes (you'll turn to stone)

No un-needed pleasantries

No going out of your way.

No smiles. No Tears. No Kisses. No Problem.


End file.
